SPOILERS: The Well of Forever

Encounters II:


September 1999

Disclaimer: Nothing and no one belongs to me, and the closest thing to profit on this is feedback. ::hint::

Max threw a datacrystal at the wall in frustration. The find of a lifetime and he had no records, no way to get back, no way to even prove he'd ever seen it. It was all that damned Technomage's fault! He'd done this; he'd destroyed his records. IPX was not going to be pleased about another mission with no results. He'd just picked up something else to throw when the door opened and Trace walked in.

The pilot stopped in his tracks seeing Max standing with his arm raised ready to throw an alien artifact at the wall. While the xenoarcheologist could be condescending, hot tempered and even reckless at times, this was the first time he'd ever seen him totally infuriated. "Max?" he spoke tentatively.

"That...that... that Technomage outsmarted me! He deleted every record of the Well of Forever from our databases, left me nothing. I told IPX we were going to have an extraordinary discovery here, and now I'm left with nothing! He's made a mockery of me," Eilerson snarled, pacing restlessly, although he did put down the artifact he'd been ready to hurl across the room.

Trace eyed him warily, unsure whether it would be better for him to stay or go. Despite the time they'd been lovers, he was aware that Max hadn't really let him into his life. He was just a convenience for the older man, and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't seem to stay away from Max.

Max suddenly focused on Trace, moving toward him, backing him up against a wall before grabbing him. He held Trace still while he plundered his mouth, working out his frustrations on the other man while Trace cursed himself for letting Max treat him like this, for responding to him. Even as he told himself he shouldn't be doing this, his body was pressing closer to Max's, his growing erection rubbing against Max's groin, and his mouth opening wider to let Max do whatever he wanted.

Trace gasped when Max spun him around to face the wall, stripping his uniform from him, leaving it tangled around his legs. Max's hand probed between his cheeks, disappearing when he flinched away from the dry fingers only to reappear moments later covered in some slick substance. The fingers slid inside him, quickly smearing the lubricant around, then they were replaced by Max's erection. Trace couldn't hold back a moan of discomfort, but it was rapidly being replaced by pleasure as Max drove in and out of him. His hips began to move in time with Max's thrusts, but far too soon Max stiffened and pushed deep inside him, coming while he was left wanting.

Max leaned against Trace's back for a moment, then withdrew and stepped back, straightening his clothing. He stopped and turned back to the pilot when he heard the faint whimper of distress. Had he been so out of control that he'd hurt Trace? When Trace turned around slowly, the purple, swollen cock told him that whether or not he'd hurt the other man wasn't the issue. It was what he hadn't done that was the problem. Despite what some might think, Max wasn't normally a selfish lover, and this was the first time he'd left Trace unsatisfied and aching.

Max reached out to Trace, his hand curving over the rigid cock, and Trace moaned and arched into the touch desperately, his teeth clamping down on his lower lip. Max drew him over to the bed and pushed him down gently, then removed his boots and the rest of his clothing before stripping off his own clothes. He picked up the container of lubricant from the nightstand, making Trace wonder vaguely what the hell he'd used earlier, and applied it to Trace's cock. Trace was disappointed. He'd hoped Max would suck him off, but if a hand job was all he was being offered, he'd take it.

Trace focused on Max's hand on him, wanting to watch every second, and he blinked in surprise when the hand withdrew. His eyes flew up to Eilerson's, seeing what looked almost like an apology in their depths. "Max?" he whimpered.

"Shh," Max soothed, leaning over to kiss him.

Their mouths were still joined, their tongues exploring familiar territory, when Trace's eyes flew open in astonishment. Max sat upright, and Trace stared into his eyes as he felt Max slide down on him, impaling himself. Trace tried to say something, but nothing came out. In all the time they'd been lovers, this was the first time he'd ever been inside Max. It felt like heaven to him. He could feel the hot, slick walls gripping him; he could see the pleasure on Max's face, and Max was stroking and tugging at his nipples. Trace raised his hands to grasp Max's hips, holding him tightly as Max rode him, writhing under him, finally raising his hips to thrust into him. He repeated the action when Max didn't object. In fact, he noticed that Max was hardening again. He moved one hand from Max's hip to the semi-hard cock, stroking it firmly and feeling it grow in his fist.

Max started to move faster, the muscles in his ass clenching and relaxing continually, massaging Trace's cock. This time, though, he watched Trace's reactions carefully, determined not to leave him behind again. He shifted carefully, leaning forward so he could reach Trace's mouth, kissing him deeply and feeling Trace's free arm wrap around him while the other hand continued to pump his erection between their bodies, despite the awkwardness of the motion. Max squirmed at the sensations, and Trace suddenly tore his mouth free, gasping, and arched rigidly under him, crying his name as he came.

Max groaned, caught on the edge of orgasm when Trace stopped moving, desperately wanting to come again. Trace opened his eyes again and immediately realized the problem. "Come here," he whispered huskily, staring at the straining cock and licking his lips.

After looking at him searchingly for a long moment, Max rose off of Trace and shifted upward until his erection was nudging at Trace's lips, which parted to take him in. Max's head fell back, and he groaned. Despite his recent orgasm, it didn't take long for Trace to bring him off, and he groaned loudly as he came into the young man's mouth.

When he was done, Max stretched out beside Trace in his bed, enjoying the post coital languor. Trace moved to get up, knowing that Max hated to be crowded after sex, so he was surprised when Max caught his arm and pulled him back.

"Stay," Max said quietly. "Please."

Trace looked surprised, but he settled back on the bed, careful not to touch Max. He was even more surprised when Max rolled over against him, settling his head on Trace's shoulder and stretching an arm over his chest.

"I'm sorry, Trace, I never meant to hurt you."

Trace was literally shocked speechless. If asked, he'd have said that Max Eilerson had never apologized to anyone in his life. He opened his mouth several times before he managed to speak. "Y-you d-didn't," he stuttered.

"But I could have. I almost did," Max sighed. He looked up at Trace searchingly. "Why do you keep coming back? I know I'm not a very nice person."

Trace stared at him. Didn't he know? Max was one of the smartest men he'd ever known, yet buried underneath all his bluster and bravado and sometimes appalling selfishness and lack of consideration was a caring man. The thought that this man wanted him was a continuing source of amazement to Trace. "Because you want me to."

Max didn't know what to say in response to that. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He settled for laying his head back down on Trace's chest and holding him.

Trace felt Max fall asleep and slowly closed his own eyes. This was the first time Max had wanted him to stay after sex. He wasn't sure what it meant for their relationship, but he was glad he'd gotten the opportunity.


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